The Birth of Bondage, Part II: The Ulterior Banana

         When I was older, I discovered that my fantasies of captivity weren’t merely child’s play. Not only that, but my tingly kink would emerge at times most unexpected. In high school, a couple of my guy friends and I had a penchant for kneeling in the corner of the Borders erotica section and hissing the most ridiculous sex tales to one another while struggling to suppress our giggles.  Nothing cracked us up more than a lavish description of a "veiny, throbbing member." 

            As I flipped through one of these books, I came upon an exceptionally ridiculous story (no pun intended)*. A woman was being held captive by two burly, well-endowed men in loin cloths. Blindfolded and naked, she was dragged into a dungeon. There, she was tied to ropes suspended from the ceiling. I imagined her floating in the air, weightless yet captured, a naked puppet facing the ground with her limbs spread (embarrassing side note: I am getting so horny writing this.) One of the men pulled out a bag of supplies. First, a canister of whipped cream. He shook it up and squirted it into her pussy**. Then, he grabbed a banana and shoved it in her. Eventually, as these things usually go, throbbing pricks emerged and proceeded to penetrate all available openings. I can’t remember whether the chef just played around with the banana or eventually ate his self-made cunt sundae, but it doesn’t really matter. What does matter is that when I read this excerpt out loud to my guy friends, they died laughing. 

I will never look at dessert the same way again. Not that I ever didn't think of dicks whenever I spotted a banana.

I laughed along, because it really was silly. But what bothered me was their other reaction. Underneath the giggles I could tell they were sort of disgusted. The truth is that they were laughing not just because of the fruit, but because of the very idea: the humiliation, the overpowering. They didn’t understand how someone could get turned on by that. Meanwhile, here I was desperately trying not to melt into a pool of pussy juice in the corner of Borders.

All erotica is silly. That’s sort of the point. It plays to our basest desires, suspending us in fantasies that may be unachievable, or even unwanted, in real life. Do I truly want to be trapped against my will in a dungeon and violated with a banana? No. But a fantasy can be as perfectly absurd as one wants it to be, and while you can sit in the corner of a bookstore and quietly giggle at it, you’ve also got to remember that somebody is reading it and getting off. Don’t let a couple extra “pounding members” make you lose your respect for the unique spectrum of human sexuality. 

If this works for you, go for it.

* Keep in mind that I am describing it only in the vague accuracy that I remember it.

**yeast infection central. Don’t try this at home.